He smiled at her, “Aye, that’s exactly how I see the castle keep being in the future. More like the refined houses down south than the crumbling ruins most Highland Laird’s homes have been reduced to by our ceaseless bickering.”
Emer found herself so much in agreement with Caillen, she became enthusiastic about the project.
“How I adore the prints of manor houses in yer library books,” she said, letting Caillen accidentally in on her secret she borrowed books from his study every now and again, “no trace of stone and timber inside at all, just beautiful wall hangings, gilt-framed paintings, and carpets so thick yer feet sink into them, like the ones ye have up in yer bedchamber. And as for the painted ceilings, those grand houses have-why I could stare at them all day and night!”
She turned and saw Caillen was watching her, taking pleasure in her delight. She blushed rosily, saying, “I suggest, me Laird, that ye bring the walls in a bit closer to make the room easier to heat. Tell the carpenters to erect a thick panel of wooden walls about a foot away from the stone walls. When they’ve done that,thenwe can talk about wall hangin’s!”
They both laughed, and Caillen escorted her out of the room. Emer kept her hand hooked through his arm and lifted up her skirts to make sure her feet were not about to trip over anything.
“What d’ye think I should do next?” he asked Emer as he guided her out of the great hall entrance and down into the courtyard at the front of the keep.
She blinked slightly, taking a while for her eyes to adjust to the daylight, then replied, “The keep was built here with the mountains at the back and flatlands in front-a great defensive place during the reign of the Tudors and those who came before, but hardly necessary for the petty squabbles that have upset the Highlands in recent times...I say...plant a formal garden-even create a labyrinth-and make the entrance as enchanting as it will be inside.”
Caillen smiled, “Are nae labyrinths and mazes considered risky places where young men and women enter to lose themselves in the hope of finding love, or at least a warm embrace?”
Emer hung her head and demurred to answer at first. Was it even an appropriate conversation to be having with the Laird? She eventually replied,
“I dinnae ken, was it impolite of me to have mentioned it? I beg yer pardon...,”
“Have ye nae ever been kissed, Emer?” his deep voice seemed to interrogate her, trying to probe her thoughts.
“I-- dinnae think I should say, me Laird,” Emer whispered, “if I say ‘aye,’ ye might take me for a flirt, and if I say ‘nay,’ ye could think me a hard-hearted girl for someone who is one-and-twenty years of age.”
Caillen gave a soft laugh, “Well said. Very diplomatic. Let’s go back inside.”
Emer walked with Caillen until they reached the upstairs servants’ parlor. She was quiet all the way, her thoughts jumping from one thing to the other.
“What about a folly?” she said before they parted, “A folly at the bottom of the glade would be nice.”
“We already have one, lass,anda Grecian style grotto. Me faither was most fond of the way the Sassenachs embellished their landscapes,” Caillen said, taking her hand off his arm but holding onto it instead, “walk a little way into the glade, and ye will see the auld relics.”
Emer curtsied, and Caillen gave her hand a squeeze, turned abruptly, and walked away.
Chapter Seventeen
Emer was happy to follow Caillen closely for the next few days. Exactly as Gawain had predicted, his brother did not seem to mind the new shadow he had picked up and even seemed to actively encourage her to be with him when her duties did not carry her to other places in the castle.
When he was in the library, not only did Caillen not mind when Emer watched over his shoulder when he was writing his numerous letters, but he would invite her to sit in the armchair and check his correspondence for mistakes when he was done.
“I’m in such a rush to get this tedious task over an’ finished with, Emer, ye would be doing me a favor if ye could sit by and make sure there are nae errors.”
Hardly the behavior of a man who had something to hide, in Emer’s opinion. The letters contained boring paragraphs of harbor fees, harbormaster commissions, and dockworkers’ pay.
When neighbors and chieftains would come to discuss clan matters with him, Caillen would announce to Emer as she sat quietly in the corner, “Dinnae mind us, lass, just carry on with what ye’re doing,” and then proceed to have his conversation with his visitor. She would sit in her armchair, listening to the chat with one ear, darning his shirts or great plaids with neat stitches.
It was more like they were husband and wife, not maid and master. Emer was in two minds as to why he was doing it: Caillen was simply lonely for female companionship and liked to use her as a convenient substitute until he could go a-courting, or he was putting on an act to hide his darker purpose.
The longer Emer heard him chatting to the leaders of other clans, the more convinced she was that all Caillen had in mind was to forge stronger bonds with his neighbors. And he had no qualms whatsoever as to who watched him do it.
“I’m riding into Lachlainn tomorrow,” he said to her one evening when she brought him supper, “ye can take the day off.”
Emer shook her head, “I dinnae think I can, me Laird, ye see, yer brither still needs me to fetch and carry for him.”
Caillen glanced up from the soup he was spooning into his mouth, an action which he did in as business-like a fashion as he did everything else; as if eating were a chore he had to get out of the way, and he was loath to even try and enjoy-too busy to get on and do the next thing on his list.
“Does nae yer sister do that?” It seemed Caillen knew a lot more about the daily matters of his staff than he would allow them to believe.
“Aye...,” Emer did not know how to tell her master that his brother had transferred his reliance to her since the accident with the arrow, and every time he rang the bell to summon her to his side, it was so he could interrogate her about what Caillen was doing.
